


Sharing

by alishaperegrina



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Little bit angsty, Off-world camping, Sam/Jack - Freeform, Soul-Searching, tent sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26669386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alishaperegrina/pseuds/alishaperegrina
Summary: Sam and Jack share a tent and a little more.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 11
Kudos: 78





	Sharing

They didn’t usually do this. The Colonel made a joke one time about playing with fire, an attempt to laugh at something they generally chose not to acknowledge. The joke fell flat when he met her eyes and saw the strain there. Too many years of fighting the Goa’uld, too many years of fighting the attraction that never stopped burning between them. Sometimes she wondered if it would ever all come to a head, if one of them would ever slip and lose that last bit of control-and sometimes she wondered which one of them would die first, leaving the other with all of the things they left unsaid.

But none of those things had happened yet, and they were left toeing that line, which meant that they didn’t usually share a tent off world. Except when Daniel drank too much, because he always got too handsy at night and too bashful in the morning. The only one who could handle him was Teal’c, because something about the laconic Jaffa rendered Daniel’s babbling apologies unnecessary. That left Daniel sleeping it off in a tent with Teal’c, and her and the Colonel laying head to toe in a canvas tent that was feeling smaller by the minute.

She laid on her sleeping bag, knees touching her chin. It was a good strategy, one tested and true from other nights like this. Lying flat on her back when the Colonel was close was dangerous-her fingers tended to wander. It was too, too easy to pretend the hands roaming her body were his, a trap she slid into as she listened to him breathe, in, and out, in, and out, as her breathing more and more shallow.

That had ended with the Colonel asking her if she was alright, and after she managed to choke out a squeaky “Fine,” she had spent the rest of the night laying on her hands.

It was equally dangerous, she found, to lay on her stomach. That time, she had managed to keep her hands under control, but there was just too much to rub against as she listened to the steady sound of his breath, the occasional hitch or sigh making her pause as her body began to feel warmer and warmer…only to come to a crashing halt as the Colonel got up to use the head.

No, the fetal position was the way to go on nights like this. She was safer this way, contained by the circle of her own arms, unable to make any poor judgment calls or sudden movement. These were the nights, though, that caused her to begin to question what her life had become.

On a normal off-world night, sleep came quickly after a day filled with unfamiliar surroundings and adrenaline. She would lie down, listen to Daniel comment on whatever new ancient object or obscure idea he was stuck on, and fall asleep to the sound of his voice. More than once she had ruminated on the soporific quality of the musing of an archaeologist and wondered if this was what the Colonel felt like when he heard her own “science babble.” She slept until her watch-second, midnight to 02:00, and woke Daniel when it was his turn before slipping back to sleep. Normal, uncomplicated, safe. Usually she didn’t even see the Colonel until the next morning when she stumbled back from the latrine and he handed her a cup of coffee.

But on nights like these, nights where she was this close to him, when she could theoretically reach out and touch him, sleep always evaded her and she began to feel a certain bleakness as she considered the very long road ahead to even begin to have a chance at what she secretly (or not-so-secretly, otherwise why the separate tents or no back-to-back watch or any of the other rules they had made for themselves) wanted most: to be his, and for him to be hers.

Choices, she thought to herself, are a bitch. She had gone through all of the options in her head, over and over. While she would like to pretend to be too noble to consider breaking frat regs, she was a singularly clever individual and naturally had devised a fool-proof plan; but it called for a level of dishonesty and dishonor she couldn’t resolve with her image of the Colonel. She would do it, and keep doing it, until she got caught and was discharged and left with the shambles of her life, but she could never ask that of him, would never ask him to give up the life he had pieced back together bit by minuscule bit from the wreckage it had been.

Add to that the very real threat of the war they were fighting, the momentum they were gaining planet by planet as the Jaffa rose up and the Goa’uld began to fall. She wasn’t egotistical enough to think that the war was unwinnable without them, but she knew it would be a blow. The situations they got into, the risk they courted every time they went through the gate-if they lost their focus, would they survive? But if he died without her ever getting to touch him, without him ever knowing the depth of what she felt for him-the idea devastated her to her core.

It all boiled down to a simple choice, the one she was confronted with on nights like these: was enough finally enough? Was it finally time to stop? Her head spun as all of the factors in her choice seemed to mock her, and she sighed deeply.

“Carter?”

The voice was quiet, almost hesitant. Another one of their rules, she reminded herself, was that they didn’t talk much in the tent. Can’t be baring their souls to each other when they're just comrades, right?

“Sir?”

“I’ve noticed you tend to sigh a lot whenever we’re in a tent together. Care to share? Something wrong with my company?” She could hear him shifting in his sleeping bag, getting ready for a serious conversation or some verbal sparring, she didn’t know which.

She realized, suddenly, that she didn’t particularly care about frat regs tonight. She didn’t care about the Goa’uld, the Jaffa, naquadah, her career or his own-nothing seemed worth what they were doing to each other. It all just seemed like a waste of her life, a waste of everything she could be to this man that she so desperately loved.

She opened her mouth to tell him everything she was feeling, but all that came out was another sigh. Because she wasn’t the person who made the selfish choice, even if she felt like a martyr. That just wasn’t who she was, not even for him.

“Carter?” He was still waiting for her to say something.

“Nothing, sir. There’s nothing wrong with your company.” She snuggled into sleeping bag, curling herself up even tighter. If she held on tightly enough, she could keep the encroaching emptiness away.

“Good. Anything you’d care to share?” His dry drawl made her smile in spite of herself. When did I become the kind of woman who smiles at the sound of a man’s voice? She wondered to herself, giving herself a mental shake.

“Not at this time, sir.”

“Good, good. Not sharing is…good” He paused, seeming to look for the right words to say. “You know, if you wanted to share, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. The Colonel wanted to talk? Maybe she wasn’t the only one who felt the weight of everything that rode on them when they laid together in the dark. She smiled wryly to herself.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir. But really, I was just thinking about how small the tent was.” And about how close to you I get to be when I’m in it, and how much I resent not being able to do anything about that.., she added silently.

“It could be worse, Carter. There could be no tent at all.” Jack rolled onto his back in his sleeping bag, sprawling with his hands behind his head. It always amazed her how much room the man managed to take up. He didn’t understand what she was saying. Even after all of the things that had passed between them, sometimes she felt like she was all alone in this ill-advised attraction, because he was a far better actor than she was on any given day.

“Of course, Sir,” she said, mentally rolling her eyes. Of course she was talking about something more than tents, and he…wasn’t. 

“You know, Carter, tents don’t last forever. Even the small ones.” His voice sounded a little muffled, as if he had thrown the blanket over his face, or maybe a hand. She had no idea what he was talking about and began to consider how she could end the conversation and get back to contemplating making poor life choices in the eyes of the USAF.

“Sir?” she asked, her tone managing to convey confusing and just the right degree of subordinate annoyance.

He sat up, and drew his knees up, resting his arms on them. “What I mean is, someday we won’t be grunts out on constant planet patrol.” He threw an arm out, gesturing at the tent. “All this will be gone.”

“I’d hardly call you a grunt, Sir,” she answered. For all he liked to downplay it, he was a colonel in the United States Air Force and well on his way to becoming a general, although she pitied his new CO if he ever got that far.

He groaned at her, making a “go on” motion. “Is that your way of calling me old? Carter, what I’m trying to say here is, someday there will be no more tents because we won’t need them anymore.

She considered him, relaxing her fetal pose. Her left leg had started to tighten and was about to fall asleep. With a groan, she sat up too, stretching as she went. “I wasn’t calling you old, I was making a comment on your rank. But I’ll bite. Someday, what will there be?”

He looked at her, smiling in a way that made his eyes crinkle. He didn’t like his wrinkles-said they made him look older than he was, the hair as well, but she wouldn’t change a thing about him. She’d always been a sucker for those crinkly-eyed smiles. “I don’t know…cabins, maybe? Next to a nice lake where the fish grow this big?” He held his hands out comically wide. “A house? I like dogs, personally. You like dogs, Carter?” he asked in a hopeful tone, looking her in the eyes.

Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Were they discussing the future? Or was it just some meaningless hypothetical conversation? Well, he started it, she thought to herself. The least I can do is play, too. “I’ve always wanted a dog, Sir.” She had dreamed of having a dog as a child, but a father in the Air Force meant their family moved a lot more than most and a dog was deemed ‘non-essential personnel’ by her father.

The Colonel made a face as he heard her answer “And that,” he added, wrinkling his nose. “In this future, no one will call me sir. I’ll just be Jack. At my cabin, fishing, with a dog.” He crossed his arms and lowered his knees, sitting cross-legged and watching her for her response.

At his cabin, fishing, with a dog. Yes, that sounded like him. Actually, it sounded like heaven. He forgot a couple of things-a nice lab to work in, plenty of books, a really big, comfy bed, but all in all…“Sounds like a nice future,” she said wistfully, wishing it were happening now.

He raised an eyebrow at her, channeling his inner Jaffa. “Well, Carter, you’re welcome to join me.” He paused to clear his throat, drawing out the moment. “I only have one condition,” he said as he winked at her.

“And what would that be,” she asked, wondering how she had gone from contemplating her non-relationship with her CO to agreeing to live with him in a hypothetical future. However, since it was the Colonel, she decided not to question it too closely, and chose to stay in the moment instead.

The Colonel grinned his best ‘you’ll regret this’ grin at her. The last time she had seen that grin, Daniel ended up dancing in a campfire fertility ritual because he lost a bet to the Colonel. Dancing naked in a campfire fertility ritual. Uh-oh, she thought to herself, as he said, “I get to name the dog.”

How bad could it be, she thought to herself. Granted, we’ll end up with a dog named ‘Homer,’ ‘Marge,’ or ‘Bart,’ but there are worse things. She grinned her own grin at the Colonel. “I think I can live with that, Sir.”

He laid back down, snuggling once again into his sleeping bag. “Good. That’s good. Goodnight, Carter,” he said as he rolled carefully away from her, his familiar form disappearing as he turned off the camping lantern that had been illuminating the small tent.

She laid down as well, curling back into her ball. While their little chat hadn’t made everything better, she did feel soothed enough to get some sleep. He was right-they wouldn’t be SG-1 forever; someday soon, there would be no more tents and no more planet hopping. She wasn’t foolish enough to think that all the threats would disappear; more likely, they would defeat their foes only to be met by new ones. But the idea of having something someday that was just for them-the knowledge that their attraction wasn’t all her head, wasn’t one sided and pathetic, was enough to calm her down enough to sleep. With her last conscious thought, she echoed the Colonel’s sentiment. “Goodnight, Sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fanfic EVER, so please be gentle with me :)


End file.
